Little Love Stories
by Evening Nightshade
Summary: A series of vignettes about the love lives of Middle-Earth's couples. Part Two: Aragorn and Arwen fluff!
1. Love At Second Sight

DISCLAIMER: Sorry, nothing/no-one who is even vaguely familar belongs to me.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: (1) OK, so St. Valentine's Day is is just around the corner. Now, being an old romantic, I hate the way that this celebration of love has become so commericalised. This day should be about true love, not how many cards/bouquets of flowers you receive. So, in honour of the true menaing of Valentine's Day, I have written this series of romance vignettes, containing some of our favourite LOTR characters.  
  
  
  
(2) In this chapter, I refer to the month of Wedmath, which, accroding to the Shire Calender, is the eighth month of the year, i.e. equivalent of August. Also, this chapter is post-Quest.  
  
  
  
R&R, please? *Flutters eyelashes*  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
LOVE AT SECOND SIGHT  
  
The letter arrived on the first day of Wedmath.  
  
  
  
Estella's grey eyes gleamed with excitement as she beheld the envelope lying on the breakfast table. Fosco had been writing regularly since going to take care of his aunt - he was, after all, her only living relative. Estella sighed at the thought of him, the hobbit whom she was due to marry in under three months. Their separation had been hard upon her, but Fosco's letters made this parting bearable. That, and the knowledge that soon, they would be together for the rest of their lives, gave her the strength to continue.  
  
  
  
"Another letter!" her brother Fredgar groaned as he handed the envelope to her. She accepted it eagerly, clutching it to her chest before hurrying back to the confines of her bedroom.  
  
Most girls would have torn the envelope to shreds by now, eager to read their beloved's news. But Estella, being particularly prim and proper, believed that love letters should be treated with great reverence, so she began her ritual.  
  
The curtains were open, allowing light to spill into the room. She unlatched the window, sighing as the scent of dying summer blossoms filled her lungs. Birds chirped cheerily in the oak tree in the garden as she turned back to her bed, where the letter now lay.  
  
  
  
The hobbit-lass sat down carefully, smoothing a crease from her dress. Nimble fingers ripped the folds of the envelope with great caution, lest she tear the vital parchment inside. Allowing the letter to slip onto the pristine white sheets of her bed, Estella inhaled a deep breath to still herself in preparation. Just the sight of his untidy scrawl caused her heart to flutter, let alone the words of love she had come to cherish so much in Fosco's absence.  
  
Carefully, she unfolded the letter, eyes scanning the writing with a delight that soon turned to dust. Her hands trembled with outrage as she ripped the paper, her breathing ragged. The scraps littered her tidy floor as she stormed outside, slamming her door and violent sobs wracking her body.  
  
  
  
* * * * * *  
  
  
  
He knocked. Once, twice, three times. But there was no answer from the Bolger house.  
  
"Fredgar!" Merry shouted, banging his fist against the door again. "Are you in there? Come on! We're going to be late!"  
  
He stood back, surveying the hobbit-hole. The Bolgers were, by nature, obsessed with cleanliness. Each window had been thoroughly polished until it gleamed with a force to rival even diamonds. The grass covered their garden like a smooth sheet of silk, and no wildflowers were allowed to grow where nature had intended. Even the pathway was swept until the last speck of dust was eliminated. He whistled a low note, tapping his foot impatiently. That useless Fredgar had probably forgotten - again.  
  
Finally, the door swung open. "Go away! We don't want any visitors!"  
  
"Fredgar!" Merry gasped, seeing the fury in his friend's eyes and the knuckles that had turned white from being clenched so hard. "What in the Shire's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing!" He snapped. "Go away, we're in the middle of a family crisis."  
  
  
  
"But what about the meeting? You know, to compile the guest lists for The Wedding."  
  
  
  
The impending marriages of Peregrin Took to Diamond of The Long Cleeve and Estella Bolger to Fosco Hornblower were the talk of Hobbiton. Since the two brides-to-be were best friends - practically sisters - they had wanted a joint wedding. Although their future husbands were a little less enthusiastic at first, considering some bad feelings that remained from childhood, the two men had warmed to the idea. In Fosco's absence, Fredgar was given the task of overseeing the groom's affairs, and Merry was needed - as always - to advise his younger cousin. The event was turning out to be so spectacular, it was nicknamed 'The Wedding' across the Shire.  
  
"There isn't going to be a wedding!" Estella's sob echoed through the hallway.  
  
Merry stared at Fredgar with a measure of surprise. "Is she telling the truth?"  
  
His friend nodded solemnly, his tone softening. "Can you come back later? I don't think that Estella can deal with visitors just now."  
  
Merry's voice came out as a whisper. "Give her my sympathies." With that, the hobbit turned, and was soon lost to sight.  
  
'Poor Estella,' he thought. She had been so completely smitten with Fosco, and he seemed equally besotted with her. Yet, despite how cruel and malicious he knew it was, Merry could not help the relived sigh that escaped his lips. Estella was too good for that Hornblower. What was one of the loveliest lasses in the Shire doing with the former bully, who had made many small hobbits, Samwise Gamgee in particular, afraid to go to school? How could she love the one who had been responsible for countless fights? Everyone was so sure that he had changed his ways, but Merry had developed the opinion that a snake may shed its skin, but the pattern of the scales never changes.  
  
  
  
He sat down by the roadside for a moment, thinking. Estella Bolger... The girl had grown up as a target of many pranks pulled by the notorious Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck. Surprisingly, she seemed to have a sense of humour and once she had rid herself of the initial embarrassment, the girl was able to look back and laugh - although the thing that amused her most was seeing Merry's reaction when Pippin accused them of flirting.  
  
Suddenly, Merry was drawn from his reverie by the sound of a lass sobbing. Standing, he scanned the area, and felt his heart skip a beat as she came into view.  
  
Her cheeks marred with tears, her hair in disarray, Estella was sitting on a tree stump not far away. She buried her face in a crumpled handkerchief as the autumn breeze whipped her auburn locks into her face. She looked so helpless... Merry was filled with the urge to enfold his arms around her, and place a kiss on her quivering lips - but he resisted, knowing that such an act would most likely earn him a slap across the jaw.  
  
"Estella!" He called softly. She looked up, red-rimed eyes peering at him from an ashen face. Merry strode towards her, and knelt before the crying lass. "Are you all right?"  
  
"He didn't even have the courage to say it to my face!" came the muffled reply. "Do you know how he broke off our engagement?" she asked, her voice laced with bitterness. "In a letter!"  
  
A letter... a letter she had probably imagined to be another love letter. Because of his active role in their wedding preparations, Merry knew all about Fosco's correspondence with Estella. What a spineless way to break someone's heart. It did not surprise him in the least that the damned Hornblower did not have the decency to break her heart to her face. "You should forget about that coward, Estee," he whispered soothingly.  
  
"No-one's called me Estee for years," she replied. "I used to hate that name when I was younger, but I suppose that nickname's grow on you."  
  
  
  
"Yes, they do," Merry said with a laugh. "What was it we used to call Diamond again?"  
  
  
  
At the mention of her friend, the unshed tears in Estella's eyes spilled over. "How will I ever tell her about the wedding?" she wept. "And what will people say?"  
  
  
  
"Don't worry, Estee. You've had a difficult day." He unveiled a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his mustard waistcoat and offered it to his friend, seeing that her own was sodden with tears.  
  
  
  
"And it's not even noon!"  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
"Merry," Estella said once her tears had stopped and she had calmed down enough to speak coherently, "Thank you."  
  
  
  
"What for?" he asked. "I was just doing what any friend should do."  
  
  
  
She smiled bittersweetly, bending to pluck a flower from the grass. She twirled the purple blossom of Forget-me-not in her nimble fingers, before crushing the flowers. Forget-me-not was said to be the bloom of true love - but if what experienced was true love, then love was a myth. "This may seem strange, Merry," she began, "But, despite what he did to me, I still love him. How can that be?"  
  
  
  
"You still love him?" Merry's eyes widened. He was actually quite handsome when he was shocked - but she smothered the thought.  
  
  
  
"I don't understand it either," she sighed. "But I do. And I'm scared," she clutched her friend's hand. "I'm scared that I'll never be able to forget him, much less get over this!"  
  
  
  
"Let me tell you a story," Merry said, motioning her to sit with him on the grass. To his obvious surprise, she actually sank to the ground. Most Bolgers would have been appalled at the thought - what is she stained her dress? - but Estella was in such a state of shock, Merry doubted that she cared much about neatness, particularly if her appearance was anything to judge by. Hair dishevelled, dress creased, she was definitely not at her best.  
  
  
  
"I know a woman called Eowyn," he said. "She met Aragorn - you know, the King of Gondor - but his was before he was crowned. Anyway, if what Legolas and Gimli tell me is true, she fell in love with him instantly. Problem was, he was betrothed to Arwen. As you know," he placed his hand over hers a squeezed it affectionately, "Eowyn was devastated at first. She thought that she would never love again, and she even wanted to die at the height of her grief, so she rode to battle, and was almost killed. Then, when she was in the Houses of Healing, she met Faramir, and they fell in love." Merry leaned back. "That just goes to show that sometimes your first love isn't your true love."  
  
  
  
Estella absorbed this new information as she nodded, wishing that she could correct him on his last point. Fosco was not her first love; as a tweenager, she had thought she was in love with another hobbit - a hobbit who sat by her side in the grass, trying to heal her shattered heart. Her childhood friend Meriadoc Brandybuck.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
Pippin and Diamond's wedding was perfect. Considering that Merry was Estella were responsible for the planning, it couldn't be anything less.  
  
  
  
Most of the Shire was in attendance, along with some special guests from abroad. King Elessar and Queen Arwen of Gondor were in attendance with their young son, Prince Eldarion. Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn had come, along with her brother Eomer and his queen Lothiriel, with their children in tow. Even Legolas and Gimli had abandoned the kingdoms under their care to make an appearance. And, of course, the Gamgees were there, Elanor and Rose having been flower-girls. Still, Pippin could not mask his disappointment at the fact that neither Boromir, Gandalf or Frodo could come. The former had departed this life years ago, and the other two were gone from Middle-Earth. But their absence did not completely dampen the ceremony.  
  
  
  
Estella sat on a bench, watching the festivities. She had immersed herself in the preparation for Diamond's wedding, determined that if she could not be the one getting married, she would at least make this day as perfect for her friend as possible. And Merry had been more than willing to help.  
  
  
  
He gazed at her from across the field, a sigh escaping his lips.  
  
  
  
Sam nudged him. "Go ask her for a dance, Merry."  
  
  
  
"Are you crazy?" he replied. "She won't want to dance with me!"  
  
  
  
Sam drew himself up to his full height - which was still a few inches shorter than Merry, who towered above most hobbits. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, you have liked that lass since you were both in your tweens. It's high time that you let her know how you feel. You almost lost her once. Are you going to let that happen again?" The gardener's tone softened. "Look, I know you're scared of rejection. I was too. But, like my Gaffer used to say, 'Nothin' ventured, nothin' gained.' I took a risk with Rosie, and now I'm married to her. Think about what this could do for you and Estella. Now go and ask her for a dance!"  
  
  
  
Swallowing his nervousness, he strode across the makeshift dance floor to the lass who sat alone watching her brother dance with little Elanor Gamgee.  
  
  
  
"Hello, Estella," he said, his throat suddenly dry. She smiled, and he felt his knees go weak. "Would you like to dance?"  
  
  
  
She hesitated. "Actually, I don't feel up to dancing." As he made to turn away, trying to mask his disappointment, she added, "But I'd be glad of the company."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
The waning crescent moon hung in the sky above, like a slither of perfect mithril. Sitting on a slight hill, Merry and Estella gazed at the sky above.  
  
  
  
"You see that?" He pointing to a star that glittered more powerfully than the rest. "That's the star of Earendil."  
  
  
  
"It's beautiful," she replied, smiling. Their eyes met, and they leaned towards each other. A trembling hand reached out to brush a curl away from her face. Estella closed the distance between them, covering his lips with her own. Merry pulled her into his arms, deepening the kiss.  
  
  
  
"I love you," he whispered when they parted.  
  
  
  
She placed a finger on his lips. "You talk too much," she said, before smothering his retort with another kiss, knowing that this time, she had found her true love. 


	2. The Duty Of Love

DISCLAIMER: See Part One.  
  
  
  
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers: KaterineKasdorf, LOTRchick, Madeleine541, Artemis-chan, Aurora, Gilthoniel, and eowynangel.   
  
  
  
PART TWO SUMMARY: Another installment, another couple, more pointless fluff. This time round, our favourite Ranger-turned-King-of-Gondor spends an afternoon with his beloved wife.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi again! I should have mentioned that these vignettes are in no way connected, save the fact that they are based on the love lives of several LOTR and Silmarillion characters. They can be read in any order, and if you are not a fan of a particular pairing, then you can simply bypass that chapter - although I really should be encouraging you to read as much of my work as possible.  
  
  
  
Please R&R, but, in the name of all that is good and sacred, no flames!!  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
THE DUTY OF LOVE  
  
  
  
  
He checked his appearance in the bedroom mirror one last time, adjusting the crown upon his brow, as a chuckle escaped his lips.   
  
  
  
What difference a year had made. No longer was he Strider, the dishevelled Ranger who guarded the lands of Eriador. Aragorn, son of Arathorn was now King Elessar Telecontar, ruler of the Reunified Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. Sometimes, he found himself longing for the freedom of the Wilds, a place where he was not tightly restricted by his duties. Becoming King meant that he had little time when his responsibilities did not rear their ugly head in his life. However, what he regretted most was the fact that he could spend very little time with his wife.  
  
  
  
This was an undeniable paradox. Had Aragorn not become King, he would never have been given Elrond's permission to wed Arwen - not that the elf-lord was entirely pleased with their marriage, even once the terms had been fulfilled, but he desired his daughter's happiness. Yet, it also meant that time with Arwen was limited. At any moment, they could be interrupted, and Aragorn would be forced to part with his wife. Each time, it broke his heart a little more.   
  
  
  
Sighing, he turned to watch his wife brushing her dark locks, humming softly to herself. Her creamy skin glowed in the milky sunlight that poured into their bedchamber. Aragorn crossed the floor and stood behind Arwen, placing his hand in the small of her back. "You seem to grow more beautiful everyday, meleth-nin," [my love] he said, dropping a kiss to her hair, allowing her scent to fill his lungs.  
  
  
  
Arwen could not help blushing at his words. Only he had the skill of making her cheeks turn so furiously red with the simplest compliment. "I am not the only one," she quipped as she stood, lifting a hand to stroke his face.   
  
  
  
"Why thank you, my queen."  
  
  
  
About to reply, Arwen found her words smothered as Aragorn pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. It was hard to believe that this was the same reserved, brooding man she had fallen in love with. Now, one only had to watch the two for even the briefest moment to know that husband and wife were utterly besotted with one another. His arms slid around her waist as she sighed against his lips.   
  
  
  
Fists slammed against the door, drawing husband and wife apart. Arwen rested her forehead on his shoulder, unable to contain her murmur of disappointment. "And thus begins the duties of the day," she said unhappily, her hands involuntarily clutching his shirt.  
  
  
  
"Do not fear, Evenstar," he replied, disappointed that their moment alone had been disrupted. Rare where the moments when husband and wife could spend an hour alone together during the day. Often, they only saw one another at mealtimes and when the time came for them to retire. Of course, Aragorn thought with a grin, they always compensated for their separation at night. "The moment this council is over, I will be back."   
  
  
  
She opened her mouth to reply, but another, more forceful knock, halted her words.   
  
  
  
"Yes, I am coming," Aragorn called, not bothering to hide the impatience in his voice. "I am positive that Luthien and Beren did not have this problem," he muttered.  
  
  
  
"Ah, but they were not the King and Queen of Gondor," Arwen said, brushing her lips lightly against his. "Do you think that the council will be over before lunch?"  
  
  
  
"Hopefully." With a final kiss, he turned, opening the door and slipping into the hallway as a pageboy led him away.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
Sunlight poured in through the stained-glass windows of the conference room, dancing across the granite floor in pools of emerald, ruby and sapphire. The monotonous voices of his councillors echoed off the walls as Aragorn stared longingly at the gardens outside, watching the distant figure of his wife wandering aimlessly through the flower beds.  
  
  
  
Unlike her husband, Arwen's duties as Queen of Gondor were few and far between. Often, her responsibilities did not extend past being at the King's side on official engagements. Indeed, only hours after his coronation, Aragorn had been informed that it was necessary for him to find a wife, and would he like his councillors to introduce him to any unmarried ladies of the Gondorian nobility? Upon hearing that King Elessar was already betrothed, and had sent word to his beloved to come to Minas Tirith, snide remarks were exchanged among the nobility about their future 'tavern wench queen.' When Arwen and Elrond had ridden into the White City, Aragorn had taken great delight in the shock etched on his councillors' faces - although he could think of no retribution, short of beheading, that could ever fully avenge their tarnishing of this beloved's honour.  
  
  
  
Sometimes, Aragorn wondered if the only reason that his councillors had wanted him to marry so soon after his accession on the throne of Gondor was for his queen to bear an heir to the throne. It angered him to know that Arwen was seen to many nobles as little more than a breeding animal, needed only to produce a child, then to be discarded like a broken vase. Although the ordinary Gondorian people held nothing short of adoration from their queen, few upper class citizens shared such favourable sentiments.  
  
  
  
"Sire, what is your opinion on the subject?"   
  
  
  
Aragorn blinked, drawn from his thoughts. He thought back frantically, trying to remember what the council had been discussing.  
  
  
  
Lord Dagnir shook his head, glaring at King Elessar. The two men could never agree on anything, from the day-to-day running of the Kingdom to the what was considered 'proper' conduct for a king. Dagnir seemed to delight in finding a fault with the new monarch, whilst Aragorn was well aware that it was Dagnir who had instigated the 'tavern wench queen' rumour. "We were wondering what the best course of action would be when dealing with the recent orc attacks around Osgiliath. I am sure you are aware of those, my king," he spat the word like poison. "At least, I hope you are."  
  
  
  
"Yes, I perfectly aware of what is going on in my kingdom," Aragorn replied curtly. "Faramir," he addressed his Steward, "How many Rangers do you have stationed around the city?"  
  
  
  
"One hundred and fifty," Faramir said, "With four hundred spare in Ithilien."  
  
  
  
"Can you see to it that the guard is doubled?"   
  
  
  
Faramir nodded. "I will send word to my ranks immediately."  
  
  
  
The remainder of the council followed as normal, including the acidic remarks exchanged between the King and Lord Dagnir. Faramir had confided in Aragorn that Dagnir was also a descendant of Isildur - his father was from the line of King Earnil, the second last Gondorian king of the Third Age. Dagnir's family had been trying to lay claim to the throne for centuries before Aragorn's arrival in Minas Tirith. Sovereignty was beyond the man's reach now, but he would accept defeat gracefully and was determined to punish Aragorn, even if the fullest extent of his suffering was little more than childish taunts.  
  
  
  
Standing from their chairs, Aragorn and Faramir strode out of the conference room and into the King's private study. Away from the watchful eyes of their fellows, the two felt more able to relax. Closing the door behind them, Aragorn sighed heavily as he removed his golden crown and placed it on a velvet cushion. Alone with his friend, he saw no need to wear it. The Steward did not respect Aragorn merely as his King - the two held an almost fraternal bond.  
  
  
  
"You seem stressed," Faramir commented, sinking into an armchair by the window.  
  
  
  
"'Tis not stress, my friend," Aragorn said, gazing at Arwen through the glass, watching as she sat by the marble fountain. Even from a distance, she seemed to radiate beauty and grace.   
  
  
  
Faramir caught his King staring outdoors. "I know how you feel, Aragorn. Your duties seem to overwhelm you at moments, and you never seem to have enough time to spend with your wife." Upon seeing his friend's stare, the Prince of Ithilien added, "I feel similarly when it comes to Eowyn. This was not the life I wanted to give her. Had fate been kinder, I would never have been made to rule." He fell silent for a moment, remembering Boromir. His brother had been groomed to rule Gondor when their father died, but after Boromir was killed in battle, that duty had befallen Faramir. The man, although popular with the people of Gondor, still felt unsure of himself, and relied heavily on the counsel of his friend, despite being a more than capable leader.  
  
  
  
Standing, the man straightened his tunic. "Eowyn will be wondering where I have disappeared to."  
  
  
  
Eyes never leaving Arwen's minute figure as bent to admire a bed of scarlet roses, Aragorn leaned against the windowsill. "Would it be too much to ask for just an afternoon away from my duties?"  
  
  
  
Turning the door handle, Faramir cast one last look at his King. "You know, nothing important is ever discussed at afternoon council..."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
A smile crossed Arwen's lips as she spotted her husband walking towards her. Seating herself at the base of the fountain, she watched expectantly as he crossed the grass, thinking how handsome he looked in his kingly robes, his crown glittering in the afternoon sun.  
  
  
  
"Suilad, vanimelda," [Greetings, beloved] Aragorn said, dropping to his knees beside his wife. He lifted a hand to brush a stray hair away from her forehead, before capturing her lips in a gentle kiss.   
  
  
  
She sighed in her husband's embrace as his lips tenderly caressed her neck. "I will take it that morning council is over?"  
  
  
  
"Yes, my queen, that is correct," he replied, tightening his grip on her waist. "However, today I will not be attending afternoon council."  
  
  
  
"Oh?" she said, turning to face him, an eyebrow raised at his comment,  
  
  
  
"No," Aragorn replied, twirling a lock of her dark hair between his fingers. "I have grown to understand that afternoon council is simply an excuse for my advisors, councillors and fellow noblemen to gorge themselves whilst discussing how to secure their positions in the nobility by marrying off their daughters." He saw his wife grimace at their chauvinistic attitude. "Nay, I will be dining with you this afternoon."  
  
  
  
Arwen smiled. "Does Faramir know?"  
  
  
  
  
"It was his idea, actually. Like myself, Faramir was tired of seeing so little of his wife, so he and Eowyn will be spending the afternoon together." The Prince and Princess of Ithilien were impossible to separate, and Eowyn refused to be left at home whilst her husband travelled frequently to Gondor to discuss important matters with his King. However, this still gained them little time in each other's company.  
  
  
  
"I will be glad for some time alone with you," Arwen said, instinctively laying a hand on his chest, feeling the gentle, rhythmic beating of his heart - a heart, she thought sadly, that would one day cease to beat. "Of late, it seems that your duties seem to be consuming much of your time."  
  
  
  
Aragorn brushed a kiss to her temple. "A fact I am painfully aware of. Arwen," he hooked two fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze to his eyes. "My time on Middle Earth is finite. I would not have you forsake your immortality for a husband who is seldom at your side." A calloused hand brushed a lock of hair from her brow, as tears filled her eyes.   
  
  
  
"Amin mela lle, Estel," [I love you, Estel] she whispered, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. "Forever. And I am grateful for every second of your life - our life."  
  
  
  
Sea-grey eyes met her sapphire gaze as they exchanged a look of pure, unrestrained love. Their foreheads met, a mutual smile crossing their lips. Aragorn leaned closer, his lips but a breath away from hers when...  
  
  
  
"My lord!" The gruff voice of Lord Dagnir drew husband and wife apart, ruining the moment. "And my lady," he bowed before the elven queen. The man was no fool, and knew how fiercely protective King Elessar was of his wife. Whilst he could behave in a manner towards the king that most found disrespectful, he would never say or do anything uncivil to Queen Arwen Evenstar. He had no wish to face the wrath of his king, a former Ranger of the North and renowned soldier.  
  
  
  
"What is it?" Aragorn snapped. "I warn you, Dagnir, this had better be important."  
  
  
  
The Lord opened his mouth to speak, but seeing the restrained annoyance in his King's eyes, thought better of it. "It does not matter," he said, knowing that Aragorn's temper was beginning to fray. With a final, defiant bow, the man turned swiftly and marched away from the royal couple.  
  
  
  
Arwen chuckled softly, resting her head on Aragorn's shoulder. "Perhaps we should go indoors for some privacy," she said. Nodding, her husband stood, before bending to sweep her into his arms. She kissed him lightly on the cheek.  
  
  
  
"To our chambers?"  
  
  
  
She nodded. "To our chambers."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
Laughing, Aragorn dropped his wife on the couch, before carefully locking the door. He refused to give anyone the opportunity to disturb them today. This was *his* afternoon alone with Arwen, and not even the Valar themselves would interrupt them today.  
  
  
  
As he turned, a smile crossed Aragorn's lips as he saw Arwen open her arms to him. Unable to deny his beloved wife anything, he seated himself beside her, enfolding his own arms around her slender body. As one, they fell back on the couch. She bent to place a kiss on his cheek, her lithe hands stroking his face softly.  
  
  
  
Aragorn sighed contentedly as Arwen's lips danced across his forehead, down his bearded chin, before claiming his mouth in a gentle, loving kiss. He wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her into a tight embrace.  
  
  
  
For several moments, husband and wife lay together in silence, entwined within each other's arms. Arwen allowed her hand to trace a path along his chest, before nimble fingers began to unbutton his dark tunic, unveiling his muscled chest. With gentle reverence, she traced the scars that adorned his chest, laying a gentle kiss on each sign one. Somehow, the knowledge that every scar, every mark on his body was earned in the protection of others, made him seem even more handsome to her.   
  
  
  
Leaning forward, she touched her lips to Aragorn's for a brief kiss...  
  
  
  
"My Lord!" Fists banged against the door. Laying a finger on Arwen's lips, Aragorn shook his head. "Sire!" The relentless knocking refused to cease. "Sire! You are late for your afternoon council! My Lord!"  
  
  
  
Eventually, the messenger disappeared along the corridor, muttering several curse words, which Arwen, blessed with the heightened hearing of the Elves, gasped in appall at. She waited until he was beyond her range of hearing before sitting up.  
  
  
  
"Your councillors will have your head," she commented as she stood, offering her hand to Aragorn.  
  
  
  
He simply shrugged his shoulders as she pulled him up, draping an arm around his wife's waist as they slipped into their bedchamber.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
Rolling onto his side, eyes clouded, Aragorn exchanged a smile with his wife. He pulled her into his embrace, savouring the warmth of her bare skin.  
  
  
  
Entwined within each other's arms, the two lay in silence. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget the days when they could only dream of times such as this, when they could lay together after such an act of love and pleasure. Too often had they lain in their separate beds, lost in thoughts of the future they might one day be able to share. But now, those hopes and dreams had become reality - a reality they were eager to relish and savour, for they were all too aware of the fragility of their love.  
  
  
  
The tranquil silence was shattered as another messenger pounded his fists against the outside door. Aragorn groaned, pulling his wife closer, as he muttered an elvish curse under his breath. He offered Arwen an apologetic look.  
  
  
  
"Do not worry," she whispered in his ear. "I have heard my brothers say much worse." A sigh escaped her lips. "Perhaps you should go to the council. I know it is late, but the duties of your kingdom must be attended to."  
  
  
  
"But what of my duties to you, Evenstar?" he asked, brushing a thumb across her smooth cheek. "You have given up so much for us to be together, and-"  
  
  
  
She pressed a finger to Aragorn's lips to still him. "Your love is all I could ever desire, aran-nin [my king]. I love you, and I will continue to do so until our time upon Middle Earth is spent. Our love will carry us beyond the Circles of the World. I hold true to that belief, Estel."  
  
  
  
"My Liege!" Dagnir hollered with another furious knock.  
  
  
  
"Do you know what I would greatly love to tell him to do?" Arwen said with a smile.  
  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
  
"Auta miqula orqu," [Go kiss an orc] she replied, eliciting a low chuckle from her husband's lips.  
  
  
  
Ignorant of the frantic rapping against their door, Aragorn pressed his lips to Arwen's in a gentle kiss, drawing her into his strong, muscular arms. "I love you," he whispered. "You are my life, and I swear to you that no hand of man nor elf will keep us apart." He kissed away the tears that poured from her eyes. "Death alone will part us."  
  
  
  
"I love you too, Estel," she sobbed. "Until the end of time."   
  
  
  
~The End~  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
P.S. A big thank you for reading my story. If you would like to receive an email whenever I update or add a new fic, leave your address in a review or email me at princessevenstar0104@hotmail.com, telling me what story(s) you are interested in. 


End file.
